Page 31 of Hit For Six (Balls and Banter #1)

‘That’s exactly it!’ She beamed. It was so rare that she could chat about her passion like this.

‘But it’s more than that. I just–’ Lola sighed, feeling her expression turn dreamy.

God, she was on a roll now, completely letting her guard down around this man.

‘I love seeing people’s faces light up when the actors break out in dance on the stage.

I know it’s a mega cheesy admission, but somehow the world feels instantly transformed in that moment.

Like anything is possible. As if someone has clicked their fingers and repainted it in rainbow colours where it was once bleak, meaningless and grey.

That feeling lasts for days. It ripples out and touches others who have no clue that you’ve just been dancing your heart out at a production of Mamma Mia or Here Lies Love. ’

Which was precisely why her mum needed the respite of musical theatre right now.

There was something so powerful about the songs and dances; they fueled you up with a new lease of life.

It was Gail who’d first introduced Lola to this magical world courtesy of Cats at the Bristol Hippodrome.

No wonder Lola adored Squiffy. But these days Gail struggled to sit for long because of her dodgy hip, and the cheap seats were not an option.

‘The only bad experience I’ve had in a theatre was when I ended up sitting next to a woman who was an international hamster judge and she insisted on showing me hundreds of pictures on her phone,’ Lola continued.

Monty snort-laughed.

‘I’m glad I hadn’t taken a swig of champagne when you said that.’

‘But I’ve made some great friends via the theatre too. I just don’t get to hang out with them very much. We’re spread out all over the country.’

And soon with her ingenious business idea, Lola hoped to do something about that.

‘I’d love to take you to a musical one day.’

Her heart bloomed at the thought, then skipped a beat.

She would love it too. Even more than Monty.

Not that she needed a man to enjoy a production but Lola had never known of a male who truly wanted to experience the thrill of this unique brand of the arts.

Her dad had tried, only to fall asleep, snoring loudly during Hamilton– which was widely regarded to be a safe choice for the most manly of men– earning himself an exile from the theatre, and a public scolding from her mum.

Lola snuck in another forkful of food before it went cold.

‘What’s your favourite performance?’

Monty couldn’t take his eyes off her and it really was as if he’d heard all of her thoughts and was ready to take on the challenge of stepping up to the mark.

‘Right now? It would have to be… erm… SIX.’

‘You’re kidding me! There’s a musical named after the greatest cricket shot of all time?’

Lola went quiet. It was incredible and ridiculous in equal measure but until now and this comparison to his sport, she genuinely hadn’t made the connection between that number as her favourite musical…

and the recent plot twists in her life. Shit.

Had the queens been trying to tell her something all along?

No, that was outrageous. She didn’t do airy-fairy stuff.

It was pure fluff. Even numerology. You made your own luck.

She’d first seen SIX back in 2019. That was a whole lifetime ago.

What correlation could it possibly have to present day Monty?

Then she remembered how she’d recently thought better of making a voodoo doll of Julian, and, as if to reinforce that, a quote from The Book of Mormon, about being all or nothing with one’s beliefs, flew into her head with admirable timing.

‘Lola? Lola! Are you okay?’

Monty put down his fork, concern creasing his brow, and although he was looking at Lola with growing alarm, she was glad of the distraction.

‘Absolutely fine. Couldn’t be better,’ she gushed. ‘Anyway, that’s enough about me, it’s time to talk about you. No more excuses.’

‘What do you want to know?’

Monty arched a brow.

‘Ooh.’

Lola steepled her fingers, myriad possibilities running through her brain and not all of them suitable for the time or place.

Maybe if she thought of something random he’d open up to her in the same way she had to him.

Intuition told her that Monty was troubled over something big, but as with her own revelation, he had to meander there when he was ready.

‘Okay, I’ve got it.’ She stuck a finger in the air. ‘If you weren’t playing international T20– and if you weren’t involved with the family business– what would you love to do career-wise?’

Anyone would think Lola had asked Monty the million pound question on a certain game show. Any moment now and he’d be saying he needed to ask the audience or phone a friend. At length he opened his mouth:

‘If I say this aloud, it’s going to make it real. I think I’m ready to make it real.’ Monty took a deep breath. ‘Even if I’m not quite sure when it will happen, I think it would be the perfect way to transition from one life dream to another.’

‘This sounds intriguing.’

Lola fiddled with the stem of her glass, trying to second guess his answer, which would probably be something along the lines of buying a farm or a pub– as most males nearing middle-age seemed to dream of doing these days, without taking into account the practicalities.

But these wouldn’t apply to Monty. He could literally chuck money at such a project in a decade or so’s time.

‘I haven’t mentioned this to another soul, Lola. It’s a bit scary putting it out there.’

Wow. This was deep. She scooped up another mouthful of food and bolstered herself for what was to come, revelling in the mouthwatering flavours.

‘When I retire from international cricket, I want to set up a travel company that specialises in… cricket.’ Hey?

That was Lola’s business idea! With musical theatre.

Okay, Monty couldn’t possibly have known, but what the hell was going on?

His eyes twinkled. There was nothing fake about this.

Apparently, they shared the same dream. ‘I’d willingly dabble in a bit of punditry on the side too.

But one day– and I know it sounds cliché– I would love to make a difference to underprivileged kids by organising cricket tours for them to watch matches at different stadiums, along with training and matches of their own.

Here in the UK, and overseas in countries where cricket isn’t federated; Spain has a real problem with that right now– there are heaps of kids missing out.

It’s not enough to have a career that’s all about me once I finally break free from the one that my father’s set up for me at Beau-re-mi.

I hope that doesn’t make me sound ungrateful, but I need to give back.

So the world is a bit of a better place than it was when I came into it. Does that make sense?’

Had she only thought to swallow her food a second earlier, disaster might not have struck.

Alas Lola had been too slow. Dumbfounded by Monty’s words and a destiny that matched her own.

Now as she tried to let the fish slip down her throat, it remained stubbornly lodged.

She let out a little cough and tried to stay calm as she felt her face grow redder and redder .

Water. She needed water. She made a grab for her glass, but the fizzy bubbles of the Perrier only aggravated her dilemma and now she was hacking away as if she smoked twenty a day.

She was in trouble. Monty’s wide eyes said it all.

He sprang to his feet– thankfully not jumping over the table this time– pulling her up so she was standing, albeit at a very peculiar angle.

Then he stood behind her, wrapped his arms firmly around her and did something with his fist, placing it between her belly and rib cage.

Blimming heck, Lola realised she was being treated to a full-on Heimlich manouevre.

As if she hadn’t shown herself up enough in this establishment!

But Monty didn’t care about any of that.

He stood snugly behind her and thrusted from the rear into her abdominal area until the morsel of food flew in the direction of the stern dude in the cream suit, where it rested at his feet.

Gasps– one of them Lola’s– and applause filled the restaurant, then the harried waiter reappeared, this time carrying his own cleaning props. There were no words to describe Lola’s relief but it was soon shadowed with mortification. An all-too-common theme when she was around Monty.

‘Thanks, I–’

But she couldn’t talk and she didn’t dare look at the table next to her.

With trembling hands she reached for the water and sipped it this time.

The bubbles felt rough against her throat and now they cascaded up her nose, bringing even more tears to her eyes.

Why couldn’t Monty have ordered tap water and been a cheapskate like she was?

This stuff tasted like paracetamol dissolved in water.

And Lola was getting sidetracked. She had to get out of here.

She picked up her jacket and bag with as much dignity as she could muster, swiped a couple of notes from her purse, threw them at the table and fled the brasserie, leaving Monty to settle the bill.

‘Lola, wait!’

Honestly, she’d just as well wear a name badge. Soon the whole of Bath would know who she was.